Slow Dance
by The Red Celt
Summary: Shepard and Hackett dance at an awards ceremony and banquet then, when things get hot, they head to a nearby hotel to have their own party. Mentions of an amputee Shepard. PWP, rated M.


The awards had all been given, all the speeches made, the food eaten, and now that everyone was starting in on the open bar the band kicked out the brakes and started playing some lively dance tunes reminiscent of the old swing-style back on Earth. Shepard sat at an empty table, surrounded by the remnants of her friends' meals, and watched with a tumbler of scotch in her hand. The ice was beginning to melt and she drew random patterns in the condensation. She watched Garrus dancing with Tali and sighed, a small contented sound.

"Wouldn't have pegged you for a wallflower, Commander," said a familiar gravelly voice behind her and she twisted around, a smile ready on her lips.

"Evening, sir. Nice speech you gave, up there." The man in question grunted a thanks and sat down next to her. He put his drink, also scotch, on the table. "Guess that makes two of us."

"So, is there some reason why the hero of the galaxy isn't dancing at her own party?"

"First of all, it's not my party. Second, my legs aren't quite what they used to be." She used the cane at her side to tap her left calf, resulting in a dull metallic thunk.

"I hear that. How are you holding up these days?" The way he looked at her, like he actually wanted to know and wasn't just asking to be nice, made her answer honestly.

"Well enough, I guess, considering. I still have trouble sleeping, but that's nothing new. Learning to walk on a prosthetic is a bitch."

"You look good." Shepard scoffed and sipped her scotch, dripping condensation on her neck. Hackett watched while the droplet trailed down her skin to disappear beneath the neckline of her dress.

"So do you." He raised his eyebrow at her, and she shrugged. Hell, it was true, and tonight seemed to be a good one for honesty.

His mind made up, Hackett stood up and offered her a hand. "Dance with me."

"Sorry, Admiral, I can't do the Lindy anymore." She frowned. "Not that I've ever been able to do the Lindy Hop, but you understand."

As if on cue, the band transitioned into a slower waltz. Shepard rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Dance with me," Hackett said again, and her body responded with a shiver. He helped her up and stopped her when she went to grab her cane. "You won't need that, I've got you."

He led her out onto the floor and brought her around in front of him, his broad palm resting on her lower back. With a deftness born of long practice, he led them around the floor in slow, shallow steps that didn't tax her legs too much. Once Shepard thought she had the rhythm down, she could stop concentrating so hard on not trodding on his feet and could appreciate how different Hackett looked. He'd opted for a tuxedo rather than his dress blues, and she had to admit that her own floor-length green dress looked very nice against him. Felt nice, too, to be touched like this.

"How's the leg?" he asked in a voice just for her, low and somehow intimate in the close bubble of space encompassing them. Her fingers, held lightly in his, tightened just a fraction.

"Fine, thanks. So, um . . . I hear you're overseeing the clean-up effort on Earth."

"Yes, I am. It's progressing gradually, but that's to be expected. People are still reeling from the war; they need some time to get their balance back before they can start concentrating on recovery."

"Sounds familiar." Hackett huffed a laugh, and it looked strange on a face that had always seemed so grim and hard. It was a strange she could get used to, though. She moved closer to him, his body warm and solid, and his hand pressed against her back, silently urging. She looked up at him and promptly forgot how to breathe for a moment as his ice-blue gaze met hers.

It was still awkward for her to move around with an abbreviated limb, but he made it seem easy, guiding her with light pushes and making sure that her feet went where they were supposed to go. If she stumbled, he helped her stay straight. In a way, it was reminiscent of their relationship over the years.

When she started to doubt herself, he was there with encouragement to get her back on her feet. When he met with her on the Normandy after the destruction of the Alpha Relay, he believed in her and stood behind her decision. He'd always backed her up, even when he'd thought she was dead, and she had no words to express just how much that meant to her.

"Civilian life suits you," he said, bringing her out of her reverie with a gentle brush of his fingers on her cheek.

"It's nice. Quiet." She looked up at him from under her eyelashes and took the plunge. "A little lonely, though."

"Shepard . . ." She waited while he gathered his thoughts, her fingers playing with his, running down to the racing pulse in his wrist. "Would it be all right if I kissed you right now?"

Her skin flushed all over, and she nearly stumbled. Nearly, but Hackett's arm tightened around her just the same. "Yes," was the only thing she could say, and he slowed his steps as he leaned deliberately down to her. They hovered on the brink, their lips just barely touching as his breath puffed lightly across her cheek, until she stretched up to press her mouth to his. With a relieved sigh, he let go of her hand and wrapped both arms around her, uncaring that there were people all around. The room disappeared, the music fell silent, the lights grew dim, and there was nothing but his mouth on hers.

The way he kissed her was unlike anything else, slow and deliberate, his beard scruffy on her chin, and her fingers went up into his hair. She touched his lip with her tongue and he had to break away from her to catch his breath. He stayed impossibly close to her, as though he couldn't bear to not touch her, and her lower belly twisted with anticipation.

"Steven," she whispered, and he let out a harsh breath.

"Say that again."

She smiled against his mouth and said, "Steven." Hackett gripped her dress and it wasn't until the waltz was over and the tempo quickened again that Shepard came back to reality. She leaned in even closer and whispered in his ear, "Wanna get out of here?"

"There's a hotel not far from here."

"You'll have to drive, then."

"Done. Come on."

He led her out of the building, and Shepard spared a moment to think about what this must look like before deciding that she didn't care. She didn't fight her way through Saren, the geth, the Collectors, and then the Reapers only to give a damn about what people thought of her personal life.

While he drove the short distance to the hotel, she kept her haze forward, only daring a glance when he'd turned back to the road after sneaking a peek at her profile. He checked them in and she felt giddy, like a much younger version of herself, as he waved the room key at her and escorted her to the elevator.  
The instant the doors slid shut, he was on her, backing her against the wall with his fingers in her hair. He kissed her with abandon, sliding his tongue into her mouth to taste her, and she yanked him closer by his lapels.

"Oh, what are you doing to me?" he asked, breathless. "Shepard . . . _Jane_."

The sound of her name in his mouth made her break out in goosebumps. She captured his bottom lip and sucked on it, relishing the texture of his soft skin and rough beard under her hands. He surged against her, and she could feel him growing hard.

It seemed like an eternity passed before they finally arrived on their floor and they tumbled out into the hallway. Shepard tried to walk unassisted and remembered belatedly that she'd left her cane back at the reception hall. Hackett put his arm around her waist and kept her steady. He unlocked the door and when it closed, enveloping them in darkness lit only by a small nightlight near the floor, Shepard stopped him from turning on the light.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing, I just . . . I just want the light off, is all."

"Jane." His fingers slid up her chest and neck to trace her features like a blind man mapping her face. "I want you."

"I know. There's a lot of damage to this old girl, and I . . . please, just leave it off."

He considered for a moment, then kissed her. This one was different somehow, charged. "All right." He walked her backward until her calves bumped the mattress and turned her around to unzip her dress. The teeth parted with a whispering rasp and he moved the fabric off her shoulder to kiss her skin. He pushed the dress off her hips to let it puddle on the floor and squeezed her waist. Shepard leaned back against him while he touched her, his fingers catching on the curve of her ribs, tracing the arch around to her sternum, then trailing down to make a circle around her bellybutton. He moved her hair aside and took his time laying kisses on her neck and the edge of her jaw, his tongue running out to taste the secret space behind her ear. Her breath hitched when he cupped her bared breast and toyed gently with her nipple.

"What do you like?" he asked, sucking on her earlobe. "I want to make you feel good."

"I, um, I like . . ."

"Tell me." He moved over to the other side of her neck while his palm dragged down her body to rest just over her mound, his skin hot through the thin satin of her panties. She laced her fingers with his and turned her head to kiss him, her tongue finding his, and he tasted of scotch and warmth and something so undefinably male that made the muscles low in her body flutter and clench.

"I want to feel your mouth on me," she said, her words flowing into his mouth on a sigh as she moved his hand between her legs for emphasis. He stroked her through the already damp fabric and she moaned.

He had her lay down on the bed while he pulled his shirt over his head. The dim light meant that she couldn't enjoy the view as well as she'd have liked, but the shadows played over the shallow furrows of his abs and the sparse curls on his chest. He crawled over top of her and pulled her knee up to his hip, his touch going lower to the edges of the prosthetic, and she reached down to grab his wrist. Her eyes met his, pleading for him to understand, but he persisted.

"It's all right." He sat back on his heels and cradled the thin metallic curve where her calf would have been. Shepard tried to protest again, but he shook his head. "It's all right," he repeated and, after a long moment, she nodded. Hackett rolled down the sleeve that held the limb on and took it away, setting it on the floor. He shifted down the bed and kissed her knee, his lips moving up her leg to her inner thigh, where he stayed to lick and suckle the irresistible soft skin there. Shepard lay back and let him do what he liked, savoring the feel of him between her legs. Her thighs were trembling and her lips were swollen and wet when he hooked his fingers under the waistband of her panties and drew them down her legs to let them fall to the floor.

He pushed her legs open and sucked at her lips first, covering her mound with his hand to stroke her slowly with his thumb. Being with him was an exercise in control and patience; he took his time to savor every inch of her, licking her with the flat of his tongue and making circles around her opening before delving into her and making her throw her head back into the pillows.

Hackett fit his lips around her clit and the suction had her arching her back, gasping his name. She wove her fingers into his hair and gripped tight, writhing under him when he moaned against her aching body. He slipped a finger into her and thrust it in and out as he licked and sucked her clit, and the warmth began to build up in her core and spread out across her body. She squeezed her breast and pinched the nipple, riding the high with gasps and moans until her orgasm broke and thundered through her, his finger inside her bringing her again and again until she fell back, limp, to the bed. He licked her clean as she shuddered at the sensation on her sensitive skin, then moved up over her, his hands beside her shoulders.

She reached down between them to open his fly and he kissed her with a low groan when her fingers snuck down into his pants to stroke him. He was so hard, so thick, and she whimpered at the thought of taking him into her. She pushed his pants off, need driving her movements, and Hackett made a fist in her hair when he claimed her mouth again. She wrapped her right leg around his waist and let the other fall to the side, but he had her put that one around him as best she could anyway. It was still strange to her, having someone treat her worst injury like it was just another part of her, and normal. It made her warm to him even more, that he didn't try to ignore it.

"You're so warm, Jane. So wet . . ." He guided himself into place and slid into her, inch by inch, while she wrapped her arms around his neck and cried out. When he finally bottomed out in her, he dropped to his elbows and swallowed her moans with a kiss.

For a long time, there was nothing but the feel of him moving inside her, the taste of his mouth, the salt of his sweat, the beat of her heart. She forgot that she was covered in scars, forgot about her missing leg, forgot about the hole in her heart where her sense of peace used to be. She let go and just let herself feel this, feel him and the way he told her with every touch that she was whole and strong and beautiful.

"You feel so good," he said, moving so he was speaking right into her ear, and his rumbling voice had her walls tightening around him. "So tight—Christ, you're so sexy." He cracked at the last word and she rolled her hips in time with his, drawing him deeper with every thrust. "I want to—Jane—I'm so close."

She moaned his name and felt another orgasm building up. He hooked his elbow around her knee to spread her open and the shift was enough to drive her nearly over the edge. She set her teeth against his shoulder, not biting down since she didn't know if he'd like that, and her muffled moans spurred him on.

"Come inside me, Steven, I want to feel you come, please—"

He shuddered and cried out, losing his rhythm, and pushed into her as deep as he could before letting go. The way he bucked against her finally brought on her orgasm and she gripped him tight, her body wracked with pleasure as he emptied inside her. He was saying something, but she couldn't make out the words, only the desperation in his voice and the way he held her as he came. With one final gasp, he dropped his head to her chest and tried to catch his breath. She cradled his head and ran her fingers through his hair.

When he got too heavy, she gently pushed at him until he rolled off her, then curled up at his side. He stroked her arm and kissed her hair. "That was . . ."

"Incredible."

"Yes." He looked down at her. "We've got the room all night, you know. Want to take a shower with me?"

"Absolutely."

He took great enjoyment in washing her and let her lean against the wall while he rubbed her clean. She did the same to him when it was her turn, and afterward they slid under the covers and he pulled her against his side. Soon, his steady breathing and the warmth of his arm around her carried her off to sleep.


End file.
